


A Good Thing, A Beautiful Thing

by cotton_prima



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, F/M, Finishing fics from 2015 before 2018 is over, contemplation of death, hurt with little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotton_prima/pseuds/cotton_prima
Summary: When Robin finally fell asleep, her head on his chest, he lay awake. Staring at the patterns of darkness that slid across the tent, he realized that they would not be alright.Set after Chapter 25.





	A Good Thing, A Beautiful Thing

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Her words chilled the drowsy warmth that had settled over Frederick’s body. Suddenly alert in the undisturbed stillness of their shared tent, he wondered Robin’s voice had been a trick of his dreams. But her body had gone tense in his arms, gone the pliancy he’d worked into it earlier that night. He tucked his chin into the back of her shoulder and felt a scar against his lips.

“What is it, love?”

To his surprise, she shuddered. Dread knifed his gut. He had seen snared animals shudder that way after they’d spent themselves fighting the trap’s cruel wire. It came before death set in—a quick spasm. Life coming loose.

Frederick stroked her hair. The longer she remained silent, the more his ill feeling grew. He realized that he knew exactly what she was going to say. He’d known it when she’d spoken with Naga, had known it when she’d given Chrom her word, had known it when she’d all but collapsed into him as soon as they’d returned to their tent. Even so, he refused to believe it until he heard her say it.

He would have done anything to keep her from saying it.

“We said that we’d trust each other.” Robin sounded more stretched than sad. In the back of his mind, Frederick thought with inexplicable calm that she was about to hurt him grievously. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath before responding.

“Yes. We did.”

For a moment the darkness softened—the moonlight passing through the heavy tarp of their tent easy as water. In the brightness, Frederick could just make out the back of Robin’s head, the exposed tip of her ear, the fall of her hair. Had she turned toward him, he would have been able to see her face clearly. But then the moment passed. The shadows fell back into place, and Robin sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Frederick’s arm buzzed where she had lain.

“Nothing scares me more than losing your trust,” she said.

“I do trust you,” he said, thinking that maybe it was enough to keep her from saying it. But he believed half-heartedly. Already he could hear her sharp intake of breath, her throat split open by those terrifying words.

“I lied to Chrom.”

A small confession, if a confession at all. Of course, he’d known. She must have suspected as much. Still, it should have mattered that she told him. He should have absolved her guilt with forgiveness, should have reassured her of his faith, his love.

And yet, he could not. Although he’d anticipated this, her truth had found him vulnerable. No matter how honest her words were, they struck him harder than betrayal.

“I didn’t do it to be deceitful,” she explained when she realized that his answer was silence. “I did it, well, out of love, I guess. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

_If you didn’t want to hurt him, you wouldn’t do this. If you have any love for him, you wouldn’t do this. If you have any love for our son, you wouldn’t do this. If you have any love for me, you wouldn’t do this._

But what could he say? Robin knew very well what she had chosen. She knew, and she’d chosen anyway. What else was there?

“I want to tell you now for the same reason I didn’t tell Chrom. But also because I trust you. And I need you to trust me too.”

Trust her to make a decision that would undo him. Trust him to let her do it.

“I’m going to kill Grima.”

His body felt heavy with blood. Frederick shut his eyes. So this was what it was to hear his wife speak her own death sentence. He heard Robin shift, felt her expectancy turn upon him. They waited until the silence seeped into them, until even the shadows seemed too loud. Finally, Robin spoke. “Please say something.”

Opening his eyes, he saw her hazy silhouette—a slightly deeper darkness.

“What would you have me say?”

She drew back, though not quite in recoil, and Frederick fought the urge to take her wrist, not to pull her to him, just to keep her from moving further away.

“I thought you might try to stop me.”

A fragment of hope caught in his throat. Could he stop her? Should he? As a knight? As her husband? Frederick pushed himself up from the bedroll, his shoulder almost brushing against hers, but not quite. He knew what he wanted. That didn’t mean he could say it.

“If I tried, would you let me?”

“Would I let you,” she repeated, turning his words over in her mouth, as if that would make sense of them. “I don’t know. Chrom would try to stop me if he could, and I wouldn’t let _him_. But if it were you…”

He could feel her gaze on him now, its pressure speaking volumes. She was waiting for a reason not to do it, was waiting to him to supply her with one. He had many to give—her vows to himself, to Chrom, their happiness, their son, spat out of time without his memory and who had found them anyhow, their yet unborn child, her friends and comrades who loved and looked to her, the kingdom that would prosper under her guidance. There were so many things binding her to this world, this life. He just had to ask her to stay.

He couldn’t ask her to stay.

“Why does it have to be you?” he asked instead. “Isn’t it enough that Chrom may strike the final blow against that monster? Isn’t it enough that you’ve gotten us this far?”

Robin took her time to answer, long enough for Frederick to dare think that he had, against all odds, convinced her. He was wrong.

“She killed you.”

The rage and pain behind her words flushed his heart. Never before had he heard her speak with such unforgiving intent, and even Robin seemed surprised by the sting in her voice. She gathered herself, then tried again. “In the world she came from, in Lucina’s past, Grima killed you. And Chrom, and Lissa, and all of our friends. She would have killed our children if they hadn’t escaped. She ruined that world, Frederick, and she used my body to do it. All because…because the ‘me’ of that world wasn’t strong enough to stop her. That’s why I have to finish her myself. I need her dead.”

_And I need you alive._

“If you’ve made up your mind, then I don’t see how I can stop you.” Her hand curled gently around his fingers. Its warmth irritated him. How could she, when he was hardly allowed to be upset? There was no small gesture could dampen the blow. None. “But we both know that, don’t we?”

Robin was quiet for a long minute. Her hand slipped away from his. When she did speak, her voice was low. “I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize,” he said stiffly. “It’s a noble decision.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Robin.”

“No. It’s unfair to you. It’s cruel. I’m choosing the future of strangers over you and Morgan. I know that. I know, so it’s not noble, it’s not even close.”

Frederick knew that he should argue. To anyone else, her resolve and self-sacrifice would appear virtuous and dazzling. His own emotions by comparison, his resentment, self-pity, and guilt, were unseemly and unfit for a knight. But he felt too hurt and too powerless in the face of her decision to pretend to disagree.

“But it’s fine,” Robin continued quickly. “You should hate me for this, but I had to tell you. It’s the only way…” She drew a short breath, and Frederick could hear the sob folded into it, followed by a laugh as desperate as bat wings. “I just thought that maybe…maybe this way it would feel a little less like betrayal. It’s selfish of me. I can lie to everyone else, but not—"

He pulled her into his chest as her voice broke, her tears falling hot against his skin. Still, despite the cover of the night and his arms, she cried as if it were shameful, crushing sobs into pained gasps between her teeth. He held her tightly, as much for his own comfort as for hers.

He hated this.

Gods, how he hated this.

He hated that she could leave him. He hated his own failings; that he could not offer a better reason for her to live. He hated that she had to make this choice. He blasphemously hated Naga for presenting her with the choice in the first place. He hated that her sacrifice, as ugly, bitter, and miserable as it was, would invariably be called a “good thing,” a beautiful thing. He hated that he had ever been suspicious of her. He hated that his early suspicions had come back to taunt him mercilessly.

But he loved her. Even if he hated what she did, he would not hate her.

“It’s not a betrayal,” Frederick said, almost believing it. “You would only do what’s best for this world. I’m sure that, given time, we’ll find solace in that. Though I…I will miss you.”

Robin gave a whimpering laugh. He released his hold on her and brought his hands to her wet face.

“I might not…Naga said there was a chance.”

Despite the optimism of her words, Robin’s voice held little hope. What was a chance? A shadow of a shadow. Still, Frederick clenched his jaw and nodded. Even if he knew he couldn’t, he wanted desperately to believe.

“Of course, this is all assuming that we don’t fall before reaching Grima,” Robin added.

“I swear on my honor as a knight that none shall harm you, not while I draw breath.”

He tried to brush away her tears, but she caught his wrist. Her grip was gentle. It held him all the same.

“And what of Chrom?”

“What of him?”

“If he tries to stop me at the last moment, will you let him?”

He did not want to think about that. It was cleaner, easier, not to think about that. But he understood what she wanted. If it came down to it, she was asking him not only to let her die, but to help her do so. Chrom would not forgive him for that. Or perhaps he would, which would be all the worse.

He thought of her words, her rage. _She killed you_. She had killed Chrom, too.

“You ask too much of me,” Frederick said.

“Will you?”

“No,” Frederick said, unsure whether he spoke truth or lie. But he could feel her smiling at him.

“Thank you.”

Her gratitude was bitter to him.

“That’s cruel, Robin,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

She kissed him, and he felt horrible. He kissed back anyway. When Robin finally fell asleep, her head on his chest, he lay awake. Staring at the patterns of darkness that slid across the tent, he realized that they would not be alright. Tomorrow they would march upon Grima, and then she would be gone. Even the moments between now and then would be colored by what was to come. She was already leaving him. Perhaps she had been for some time.

It was only then that he allowed himself to weep. Quietly, so as not to wake his wife.


End file.
